


Merchant Ivory

by dashakay



Category: Actor RPF, Battlestar Galactica (2003) RPF, The X-Files RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/pseuds/dashakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A day without corsets. I nearly screamed with pleasure."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merchant Ivory

  
A PA calls first thing in the morning to inform her that the scene on the moors is rained out and they'll shoot the drawing room scene with Clive and Kate instead. She has the day off and she could use it. Mary is sore and exhausted from being laced into a corset every day and affecting a plummy English accent. She needs sleep, a massage and vast quantities of hot tea. But instead of rolling over and falling back asleep, she rises and opens the heavy draperies. Thick sheets of rain are pounding the Devonshire landscape outside the window.

She splashes water on her face, brushes her teeth and pulls on the thick cotton robe provided by the hotel. She pads down the hall to Gillian's room, guessing that Gillian received the same wake-up call, since they're in the scene together.

Gillian answers the door in an identical robe to Mary's, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. "How lovely," Gillian says with a yawn. "A day off. Tea?"

Mary attempts to conceal a grin at the sound of the English accent Gillian affects even in her day-to-day life. Granted, she lived in England for several years as a child and now makes her home in London, but Mary finds Gillian's accent touchingly affected.

"I would love some tea." Gillian ushers her in and pours her a cup.

Gillian sprawls on the unmade bed, strawberry blonde hair pleasingly disheveled. "A day without corsets. I nearly screamed with pleasure."

"I know. My back is so knotted I could hardly roll over last night." Mary settles at the foot of the bed and blows on her tea to cool it.

"I swore I'd never do another corset picture, but when Mr. Ivory crooks his little finger..."

"I thought I'd see if there if there's a massage therapist in the village," Mary says.

Gillian sets her cup down on the bedside table. "I could give you a massage. I took a course ages ago. Half the X-Files cast used to come to me for backrubs."

"You wouldn't mind?" Gillian's offer makes Mary's stomach nervously roll. There has been this odd undercurrent between them since they first met at rehearsals. They've become fast friends—gossiping during hair and makeup, sharing a whiskey at night in front of the fire in the hotel lounge. But there's also a flirtatious vibe that Mary can't ignore. There have been lots of hugs, cheek kisses and hair stroking over the last few weeks. Last night Gillian babbled away about Reiki healing, seemingly unaware that her hand was resting on Mary's thigh almost the whole evening. And Mary acted as if she weren't aware that the hand was there, or that she enjoyed its presence more than she should have.

"It would be my honor to massage you," Gillian says with an effervescent giggle that's so different from the grave persona she so often affects in her roles. "Dressing gown off, face down on the bed."

Mary slides off her bathrobe, feeling self-conscious about her cellulite and stretch marks, the breasts that are no longer as perky as they once were. Gillian is young enough to be her daughter if she had a baby in high school, she tells herself.

"I'll be right back. I have this rosemary-infused massage oil that works wonders," Gillian says.

Mary settles on her stomach. It's odd to be sprawled naked on Gillian's bed in this slightly chilly hotel room. She hears Gillian's footsteps and feels her straddle her back.

Gillian's hands are warm and slick as she runs them down Mary's spine. "You _are_ knotted up," Gillian comments.

Mary stifles a groan as Gillian begins to knead her neck and shoulders. She can smell the rosemary in the oil. It smells like lamb roasting for Easter dinner. "I think I might drool."

"Drool away," Gillian says cheerfully. "I'll just ring for new pillowcases."

Gillian's hands are magic—surprisingly strong but still gentle. Mary closes her eyes to lose herself in the sensation. The massage hurts her sore muscles but it's a good pain. But Mary starts to feel her face grow warm as realizes she's getting excited as Gillian touches her. She feels her clit throbbing just a bit.

She should roll over and thank Gillian for the backrub and leave. That would be the sensible thing to do. But Mary's not feeling particularly sensible as Gillian presses her hands into her lower back.

"Spread your legs," Gillian says, her voice almost a whisper.

Mary's eyes open wide and she lifts her head from the pillow in alarm. "What did you say?"

"So I can massage them more easily. When your back muscles are sore or strained, your thighs have to bear extra weight and can get sore, too. "

This is not good, Mary thinks, but she spreads her legs all the same. She wonders if Gillian can tell how turned on she is, how she's getting wetter by the second as Gillian rubs her thigh muscles into jelly.

"Does this feel all right?" Gillian asks.

All Mary can manage at that moment is a muffled grunt. It turns into a gasp as she feels the tips of Gillian's fingers skim the globes of her ass and then move down to the folds between her legs. "Does _this_ feel good?" Gillian's voice is tentative.

Mary nods.

"I want to make you feel good, Mary." Gillian's finger finds her clit and gently circles around it without touching it directly. "But if you don't want to do this we can stop, no harm done."

They really should stop. That would be the right thing to do, definitely. But Mary doesn't want to stop, isn't entirely sure she could stop this if she wanted to. She finds herself managing to roll herself over with Gillian still straddling her, so that she can look Gillian straight in those beautiful blue eyes of hers. "I don't want to stop," Mary says firmly.

Gillian smiles, that funny grin of hers that shows just a bit too much tooth. "I've wanted to do this for a while but I wasn't sure if you'd be open to it." She starts stroking Mary's breasts in slow circles.

"You have no idea how open I am to this idea," Mary gasps. She pulls Gillian's head down to hers so that she can kiss her.

It's been decades since Mary has kissed another woman and she'd forgotten the softness of a woman's lips, the silk of female skin against female skin.

Mary hears the rain pattering against the windowpanes as she unknots the sash of Gillian's bathrobe to reveal the curves of her body—her lovely round breasts topped with pink-tan nipples, the pucker of her navel, the small patch of light brown hair between her legs. "God, you're gorgeous," Mary exhales.

"You're kind to say that after three babies," Gillian laughs. "And so are you. I've always thought you were but when I met you in person, it was like _wham_. Instant infatuation. I was afraid to talk to you." She bends her head to take one of Mary's nipples between her lips, circling it with her wet tongue.

Mary throws her legs wide open, wanting so badly to be touched, to be taken. Gillian sucks first one nipple and then the next. Mary's hands can't get enough of Gillian's soft curves. She's used to firm male muscles under her fingers and she delights in the novelty of a woman's flesh.

Butlers and corsets and unrequited love seem like a continent away, not currently shooting just a mile down the road in a National Trust country manor. Mary hopes that whoever is in the next room is no longer in it; she can no longer hold back her moans.

Gillian raises her head. "I want to taste you, Mary." A shiver runs through Mary's body. Gillian turns herself around and bends her head. Mary can feel Gillian's warm breath on her thighs.

Oh. Yes. Gillian's tongue slides between Mary's folds. She feels her hands knot themselves into fists as Gillian laps at her gently, slowly. It's agonizing and exquisite. Best massage _ever_.

Gillian's bottom is hovering tantalizingly near Mary's face. Mary props the pillows behind her own head and tugs at Gillian's hips until she's settled on Mary's face.

It's rarely worked this way with other partners, but somehow Gillian and Mary fit together. Mary is surrounded by Gillian's scent and taste, like the sea—briny and sweet at the same time. She nudges Gillian's clitoris with her tongue and feels Gillian quiver at the sensation.

They find a rhythm of tongues and fingers, giving and receiving. Mary is very, very close to coming, but instead of rushing headlong towards her orgasm like she usually does, she finds herself attempting to hold back as Gillian sucks her clit. Mary wants this to last as long as she can. What a wonderful feeling to give pleasure at the same time as she takes it, to feel Gillian's tongue moving in time with hers.

But all good things must come to an end. Or at least a magnificent climax. Gillian's fingers slide deep inside Mary and she feels the inevitable waves cresting. Mary has to stop licking Gillian to cry out, to howl her pleasure at the moon, or at least the rain-streaked windows.

Once the sensations begin to ebb within her and she catches her breath, Mary applies herself to her task with renewed gusto. Now she can really concentrate on her task. She wants to hear Gillian moan. Mary sucks Gillian's fat clit and is instantly rewarded with soft mewling sounds from Gillian.

"Oh shit, oh fuck, oh Mary," Gillian pants, grinding herself into Mary's face, rocking back and forth. "Ohhhhhh!" And then she's still.

Here comes the uncomfortable part, Mary thinks. My costar and I have just slept together on a whim and now we'll both mumble something about errands to run or phone calls to make and it'll be awkward for the rest of location filming. This was a bad idea.

Instead, Gillian crawls up the head of the bed, rolls onto her back and starts laughing.

Mary licks her lips, still tasting Gillian on them. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know," Gillian gasps between peals of laughter, clear as bells. "I just feel good. I feel happy that we did this."

And Gillian's giggles set Mary off into a fit of giggling of her own. This has been a frequent problem for them on set. One gets the other going and then they can't stop, much to the frustration of serious Mr. Ivory. "I will _never_ cast you two together again," he once said.

It's a long time before their laughter subsides.

Mary glances at the window. "It's still raining. Looks like it'll never stop."

"Good. Then we have no reason to get out of bed today." Gillian nips at her shoulder.

Mary's eyebrow rises. "But we'll have to eat at some point..."

Gillian starts laughing again. Her hand slides between Mary's thighs. "Silly girl. Why do you think room service was invented?"

END


End file.
